A Merry Christmas
by Anlynne
Summary: On the eve of Christmas Hermione receives a letter that prompts her to visit her past to work out why her sixteen-year-old self wrote her.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

From a small rosewood box played Christmas songs and the kitchen was warm with the sweet smell of a professional bakery fairly accommodating the flour counter-tops and icing on the taps. With the help of a little bit of magic, Hermione was able to make three dozen - slightly lopsided chocolate cakes. It would be good enough for Harry and Ron, she decided. No one was objecting to her helping out Mrs. Weasley with the Christmas pies tomorrow, no matter what the boys said about her cooking during the Horcrux hunt.

Hermione looked at the pile of gifts under her false tree that was lit with multicolored bulbs. The presents adorning Santa and snowmen wrapping paper spilled out into her living room in masses. Most of them were for the Weasley's and so the amount was justified.

"Hermione?"

Hermione wiped her hands on the front of her apron and opened the shutters to peek into the living room. She saw Ginny, her brilliant red hair streaked with drying mud, bits of it coming loose from her boots as she welcomed herself through the door with a handful of envelopes. Making a mental note to wash her floor (again), Hermione turned and finished the red icing on the last cupcake. Only a dozen more to go, and the next would be done in yellow. She would try for gold, but in her defense it was her first time baking with magic. It wasn't quite as easy as Mrs. Weasley made it look.

"How was practice?"

Ginny groaned as she sat at the window. "The good news is that we're going to slaughter Haileybury Hammers. The bad news it that if Maggie keeps throwing fouls then I have give her the cut." She slapped the stack of envelopes on the sill, her nose in the air sniffing the air. "Hand me one."

"These are for Harry and Ron's party."

"No one baked me anything because I got on Holyhead Harpies. Why do they get something because they passed their Auror exams?"

"Because everyone knew _you'd_ make it on the team," Hermione joked.

After the war there was no doubt that Harry and Ron would pass their exams and the training they had to go through. The Minister of Magic Kingsley insisted that they need not to prove themselves after what they had done in defeating Voldemort. However, Hermione pressed that they should not take the easy way out. It caused much argument from Ron, but he still took her strongly worded advice.

"I'm still owed a cupcake," Ginny said fairly.

Hermione paid her no mind and pretended not to see as she leaned over to swipe one. She flipped through bills, adverts and letters from her parents until one caught her eye. There was not an address or a stamp, but on the front was her name in her handwriting. Bumps raised over her skin as a cold washed down her spine.

"Ginny, did you get all these out of the post box?

"'Course."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, opening it carefully and taking out a yellowed parchment. It was in her handwriting, but she didn't remember writing it. Why couldn't she remember writing it? She took out her wand, laying the letter on the table and performed every spell she could think of, but it did not hold dark magic. It was a normal letter.

Ginny swallowed, her mouth outlined in yellow. "Who's it from?"

"Me."

_To My Future Self,_

_ My name is Hermione Jean Granger, my birthday is September 19, 1979. My wand is 10¾" vine wood, with a dragon heart-string core. My friendship with Harry and Ron began in the girl's lavatory as they battled a troll on my behalf. My parents are Patrick and Jean and I had chicken pox when I was two, and dad gave me a white teddy bear to make me feel better._

_ I know this is hard to believe, but this letter and its contents has been kept since the summer of 1996. You must see what there is to see and meet someone important at St. John Parks. Go to the Northern benches and there this letter will make sense._

_Your Past_

Inside there was a small vial filled with a smokey substance that she recognized instantly. It was memories.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Holding the vial in her palm, she faced Ginny. "Will you stay here?" She tugged the string on her apron loose and flung it across the island.

"What is that," she asked, her gaze set on her hand.

"It's someone's memories... I don't know who, but I'm going to find out."

"What if it's a trap?"

She shook her head, knowing that whatever it was, it was not a trap. That was her handwriting, and it didn't appear that she was under any duress while she wrote it. It was written clear and concise with no ink blots. "If I don't come out, then you can Owl Harry."

"Be careful."

She started down the hallway before stopping and looking back at her. "Ginny?"

"Yeah?"

"Only one more cupcake."

She rolled her dark eyes upward. "Sure."

Hermione knew she was going to take three. She ate about as much as her brothers.

She walked briskly to her bedroom, her hands shaking from what she was about to see - whatever that would be. She flung her drapes on the clouded sun setting herself in complete darkness. She opened up the doors of her wardrobe, and knelt on the floor. Pushing past boxes of old letters and a pairs of shoes, the glow of her Pensive flickered on her face.

Taking several deep breaths, she brought herself to uncork the bottle and to pour the contents in. Steadying herself, her hands on the rim, she brought her face to the bowl and she was taken in.

_ Stone walls and stone steps and the coldness of the atmosphere told Hermione that she was in Hogwarts. Not only that, she was at the bottom steps leading up to the Astronomy tower. She then saw herself dressed in her school uniform wrapped tightly in a cloak, a diminutive telescope in her hold. She passed right through her._

_ Hermione spun and watched herself move along. Judging by the length of her hair, she could access that it was in her Sixth Year. She remembered having cut her hair a little too short, but what she didn't remember was that night. Her telescope had been returned to the tower, but she didn't remember doing it. How could she have forgotten? The scene she was witnessing, it didn't happen. It couldn't have. She would have recalled it._

_ Running, she caught up to herself. The wind was blowing harshly, but as a ghost in someone's memories, it had no effect on her, and she walked forward as her past self was stopped in the doorway, pulling her brown tresses back from her face._

_ The present Hermione approached a thin blond boy leaning dangerously over the edge of the tower. He lifted his foot as if preparing to jump and despite being aware that no harm could come to her or the ability to change what had happened, she could only go so far, the height causing her to feel dizzy._

_ The past Hermione cried out, and the boy snapped his head toward her._

_"What do you want, Granger?" Malfoy turned around angrily and Hermione saw him looking past her to her younger self, her hand outstretched toward him._

_ "Malfoy," she gasped, startled and afraid, her fingers moving toward her wand. Slowly she placed her telescope down. "What are you doing here?"_

_ "That is none of your business!" He sniffed, shiny streaks of tears drying on his cheeks. He had never appeared more furious or more dangerous._

_ Sixth Year Hermione was shaking, clearly afraid, but for whom, Hermione didn't know. "Come away from there."_

_ "Are you afraid of heights," he asked cruelly, a smirk trying to form at the corner of his mouth. It faltered into a frown._

_ Her face shined of defiance, then concern took over. "You're bleeding."_

_ He had touched his nose, blood on his fingertips. He clenched his hands at his sides. "Go away."_

_ "Let me help you."_

_ "Why would you want to help me?"_

_ Chest puffed up, her chin up, she moved forward, but only three steps. " You should go to Madam Promfrey."_

_ "Mind your own, Granger."_

_ "I know you want help. You mope about the school, and Malfoy," her face was eager and surprised, "you haven't called me mudblood. Something is wrong and I can help. Let go of your stubborn and prejudice and let me."_

_ The present Hermione saw what was to happen before it did, but her past didn't, and Malfoy bunched the front of her robes in his fists, shouting in her face, throwing her to the edge tower, knocking over telescopes. Hermione jumped to help herself, but her hand fell through her arm, and her past fell gripping the precipice. Tears sprung between the crevice of her closed eyes._

_ Then, Malfoy did the most wondrous thing. He grabbed the front of her cloak and drew her against him. It wasn't what he meant to do, obviously, because his eyes wide, he seemed surprised in himself._

_ Like she burnt him, he let her go quickly. With the swish of his cloak he left her and her future self there trembling in fear and confusion._

* * *

__A/N: There are five chapters in this story, it is not meant to be long.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

_It may have been the next day or the next week. The scene changed around Hermione and she found herself in the library in a quiet aisle of books. Ron was leaning against the shelves complaining about the amount of homework he had yet to do and Hermione promised her help. With an improved attitude he waved her off to join Harry on the Quidditch field. Hermione didn't spare him a glance; she raised herself on her tip toes attempting to reach a faded brown book until a pale spidery hand brought down for her._

_ Shocked, she unmannerly asked, "what do you want, Malfoy?"_

_ "You tried to help me last night." It was a statement and a poor one at that._

_ "And obviously you are helpless. Aren't you afraid your friends will see you with a mudblood?"_

_ "Granger," he whispered, drawing closer than he had ever been to her, she could see the specks of silver in his eyes. "Why did you try to help me?"_

_ Checking their surroundings to be sure that they were alone, she whispered back, "it's the human thing to do, Malfoy. It's something you know nothing of."_

_ "You're right," he said so honestly she gaped, her eyes and mouth wide before slight disbelief in the crinkle of her brows took over. "Thank you," he added._

_ Hermione staggered, blinking furiously. "You - You're thanking me?"_

_ He was without expression, his visage like stone, his lips pursed tightly together. "It has been a very long time since someone helped me." Cautiously he glimpsed over his shoulder, and bowed further over her. "I've spent months with the world on my shoulders, a weight only you can understand."_

_ "What makes you think I'd understand that?"_

_ "Because you're friends with Potter, and anyone who is friends with Potter would be scared for their lives and everyone in them. You should be, if you're smart, and you, Granger, are very smart."_

_ "Are you feeling well? You hate me," she said as if reminding him._

_ "I thought I did." His face was one of no emotion but then he blanched, hating himself. "I don't know if I do anymore. It's maddening, but there's a lot I don't know anymore. Everything is nothing that I thought it would be. Nothing will be the same again..." He seemed to be speaking to himself. Blinking he brought himself back, looking down at her, tapping his finger on the cover of the book he got for her. "My grades are failing. Will you help me? On the Astronomy Tower tonight. I promise not to throw you over."_

_ "It's going to take more than one promise."_

_ "What else then?"_

_ "That this will not get around. We have to keep this secret. For both of our reputations."_

_ The present Hermione understood why she said she what she said. Harry at the time had a theory forming about Malfoy, that he had become a Death Eater. Lest that she knew then, that Harry had been right. Yet, she didn't want her own friends to know, to judge her. Helping Malfoy was her own adventure, and none of them would understand.  
_

_ "Not a problem." He left, his cloak swishing egotistically._

_ Hermione worried for herself, but she knew that they were memories and whatever had happened she was safe in the present. It made her wonder if Malfoy had changed, and none of them knew it. Harry had pardoned them for changing sides at the end of the war, but she didn't think that Malfoy had changed as much as he had before he became another scared boy on the wrong side._

_ The scene dissolved and reformed. She saw her and Malfoy study, their books laid out on the stone floor. Nights passed and they conversed longer and he began walking her to the corridor of her dormitory. The next night he would meet her on the steps of the tower. Always half-way, always as a gentleman, and Hermione knew that she had to know then, where it was going, what was happening between them. He discussed his friends and his family, childhood stories of how he would steal his father's wand to set off the doors in the hallway of their mansion to drive his mother bonkers. She shared her own stories, how she hadn't had sweets until Junie's fifth birthday party and she got sick._

_ It was that way time after time and the present Hermione flew through four months; on the tower she watched the orange leaves of the Forbidden forest fall and she watched as the air frosted the trees. __Although it must have been freezing, her past self and Malfoy continued to meet outside, herself creating a bubble of warmth around them. They surrounded themselves with their school books and parchment, bottles of Butterbeer and laughter until it was well past their curfew._

_ The present Hermione was stunned. Chips of memories spanning months were lost. She could remember her classes, and how that winter Fred and George attacked Malfoy and his mates with snowballs and __enchanted snowmen. What she didn't remember was being there with him and she didn't know how to feel because Malfoy was everything she knew him to be, but there was another layer. Beneath the ego and hatred there was a dawn. Malfoy was realizing what it meant to be him and he didn't want it. He wanted... Her. She knew it wasn't her that had changed him, it was himself, it was that in a moment of almost taking his life, he decided he wanted to live because the things he was taught to hate had saved him._

_ "I don't want to work for the Ministry," Malfoy confided as he snapped a book closed after another long study session.  
_

_ "Your father is pressuring you again," she asked, placing her own books into her bag._

_ "Yeah, it's boring work. I think I want to do something more exciting."_

_ "What is it that you want to do?" She carefully rolled up her homework and put it with the books, clasping her bag shut._

_ He took a swig of Butterbeer. "Tell me, Hermione, what do you want to do with your life?"_

_ "You didn't answer my question."_

_ "And you know why."_

_ She knew why, her face showed it, the pain in the crinkles of her brows. "Do you have it?" Her voice crack with emotion as if the very thought might break her._

_ Malfoy shoved his left sleeve up showing the skull and snake embedded on his pale skin. The present Hermione watched herself closely. It was the very moment that she learned that Harry had been right, the moment that she learned that the man she had been with signed an agreement with the devil. Despite that, she felt a tear, a wravel and a pull of a thread she didn't know existed, to know that Malfoy had made his choosing. It didn't make sense, because it was a memory. Hermione knew what would happen to the boy that sat there. He would fight against them, he would be a coward pleading to anyone to spare him. He would grow to be a man, and she would never hear from him again. He was a loathsome wizard that she had the displeasure of being an acquaintance._

_ Except, she wasn't an acquaintance. She had been more than that. She questioned then, if he had taken her memories, if he had realized how disgusting it was to be there with her the way he was, and he erased her knowledge of his goodness. Maybe he changed his mind. The question was, why would anyone want her to remember? How did she write to herself?  
_

_ "It doesn't mean anything, Hermione," he told her._

_ "How can you say that?"_

_ He pushed the sleeve back down, covering the symbol of hatred. "Don't hate me. You don't understand. You have the freedom to do whatever it is you want. I'm bound to duty. I have to use this to protect my family. He'd kill us." With the heel of his thumbs he wiped away her tears, streaking them across her cheeks. "Don't cry. Don't hate me."_

_ "I don't hate you. I feel sorry for you."_

_ His face hardened. "I don't want your sympathy either."_

_ She held his hands. "I do understand, Draco. You feel like you don't have a choice, but you do. I can help you -"_

_ "Stop it, Hermione. I let you in, don't make me regret it." His fingers tightened on her palm, and he helped her up, gathering her toward him. "Forget about the future, my mark - everything. Right now, it's about us. Between us, there is no blood, no hatred, nothing." He held her hips, swaying them to a tune only they could hear. "If I had a choice, it would be you."_

_ Embracing him, she rested her head on his chest, inhaling him, the stars, and the one night in which they finally came together._

_ Their noses touching, their eyes half shut, he touched her lips. He wrapped his hand in her hair, bringing her flush against him. It was gentle and passionate. She gasped in his mouth, and he parted from her._

_ "I won't hurt you," he hushed to her._

_ She cried, and Hermione wondered if she had known then that he would._


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four**_

_ It was as long as four months could be. Her past self was enamored with Malfoy, and Malfoy... He seemed equally enamored with her. The way he caressed her face, it was a shock to her system. Not once did he call her a 'mudblood' or teased her, or even asked for information on Harry. He was being... Genuine. He was sickly in appearance, with dark bags under his eyes and a complexion to rival Nearly Headless Nick. But whenever he caught sight of her, he lit up, smiling a rare smile. Even in the busy hallways when they passed his hand brushed hers._

_ On Christmas, pass their curfew they walked up to the icy tower without their books. He grinned at her before sliding across the patch of ice, his arms out at his sides as his yell reached the stars. She followed him, giggling as he caught her around the waist. The force of it made them fall hard on their bottoms and they laid back, still in fits of laughter. It was then that out of his coat pocket he brought out a small box wrapped in green snowflake paper, placing it in her gloved hands.  
_

_ "Merry Christmas," he told her._

_ "Draco -" she started._

_ "Don't say anything. Just open it."_

_ She pulled on the string and the wrapping fell away presenting a dark wooden box the size of her palm, elegantly etched with flowers their steams like vines climbing over the edges. She opened the lid and the melody of Silent Night played loud enough to fill the tower. Her breath was taken away, she happily sighed. "This is beautiful."_

_ "It'll play any song you want to hear, even the song you can't place into words. It'll match itself to your mood."_

_ "This is..." She swallowed. "I'm afraid I didn't get you anything."_

_ His dragon hide gloves moved roughly over her cheek. "Then we have a problem. In return, I want you to make me a vow."_

_ She waited, the smoke of her breath ceasing its rise, a strand of her hair escaping her plait._

_ He brushed the strand behind her ear. "Whatever I am made to do, forgive me now for it."_

_ The music faded as she shut the lid of the box. "Draco, you won't be made to do anything if you go to Dumbledore."_

_ "We've been over this. Promise me, Hermione."_

_ "I promise."_

_ He kissed her hard on her mouth.  
_

_ Hermione thought of bringing herself out of these memories. It was hard to accept, but there was no denying that they were hers. The question was, why didn't she remember them?_

_ Her answer came on a colder night, following herself in her red plaid pajamas out of bed past snow-covered windows to a darkened corner of an abandoned classroom. Malfoy sat on a desk, bundled in a heavy black coat, fingering his wand thoughtfully._

_ It was different than any other time. The scene she was in, it was the most important, for Malfoy looked at her sadly._

_ "There's still time," she begged him. "We could keep you safe. Go to Dumbledore. He'll keep your family safe. Draco, please."_

_ "I have to do this."_

_ "No, you don't -"_

_ "You don't get it," he snapped._

_ "Then explain it to me."_

_ He sighed heavily, and stood. "My parents would rather die than hide. I can't leave them. Surely you can understand that. You won't even tell me what you're going to do with your parents when you go off with Potter."_

_ "I have to go with Harry. I have to help end this. I can't let him go at this alone."_

_ Malfoy's thumb traced a blue vein on her wrist. "Then can you understand why I have to do this?"_

_ Tears poured and she threw her arms around him. "Be careful. Be safe."_

_ "Hermione..." He pressed his lips to her ear. "Can you shield your thoughts?"_

_ She forced herself away from him and took out of her pocket a tiny plastic vial. The present Hermione gasped, suddenly realizing._

_ "If we survive this war, will you come for me?"_

_ Draco stared at the vial like he was going to be sick. "Always."_

_ She placed the lip of the vial to her eye and a silver tear rolled into the glass. She sealed it with a cork and placed it in his palm, curling his fingers over it. "Keep it safe."_

_ "I will."_

_ "You will need this, too." Out of the same pocket, she shakily withdrew an envelope. "If... If I survive -"_

_ "Stop it -"_

_ "If I survive," she said again, "send these two things to me and I will come."_

_ Malfoy looked less certain. "You'll hate me."_

_ "That is precisely why you have to send these."_

_ "What if you're captured?"_

_ Hermione of the past held his face securely, their noses touching, their breath a shared heat. "Draco, listen to me. No matter what happens, you have to let me go. Don't try to save me. You know what he'll do if you try - if you consider it."_

_ "It's not that easy," he said through clenched teeth. "I won't let you die. Whatever it looks like, it isn't."_

_ "I know, but we don't have another choice." She kissed him soft but urgently. "Will you do okay to remember me?"_

_ "I can't have it any other way."_

_ "Draco -"_

_ "I can hide my thoughts, Hermione. Don't worry about me."_

_ The tears fell faster, no longer silver but real and painful to watch. "I won't," she said logically as she stepped away._

_ He raised his wand._

_ The present Hermione watched in horror as she let the man that she once hated point a wand at her to boil her blood at thoughts of him. A light flashed and her past self's eyes glazed over before she crumbled and Malfoy caught her, holding her close to him. He picked her up, and carried her up to the empty infirmary where he laid her down on a white bed._

_ Brushing her hair from her eyes, he pressed a last kiss to her lips. He hushed to her sleeping figure, "remember that by helping me, you changed me. You made this black heart soft, Hermione. Because of you, I will never be the same. Because of you, I live. Thank you."_

_ As he passed her, Hermione saw his hands shaking. She could barely see though as she was crying herself._

* * *

A/N: Happy Holidays, everyone! Thank you for the lovely reviews. There is one more chapter._  
_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Hermione fell backwards into her bedroom. She looked at her closed shades, the brightness of the winter sun peeking through the cracks. She sat up; her Pensieve was silent in its glow, the empty bottle on its side, the cork peeking out behind the pool of the curtain.

It felt like forever that she had been gone, but she knew it had only been minutes. Minutes of finding missing pieces of herself, of remembering who she used to be, a person she never knew. Her heart was beating its way out of her chest, her ribcage fracturing. She felt as though someone took her apart and put her back together with extra equipment that she didn't know what to do with. Her face was hot, her nose stuffed and eyes stinging.

Ginny rushed in, and stopped in the doorway, quizzically staring down at her. "Hermione?"

She hadn't realized that she was crying until she felt her wet face. "Oh."

"What happened?"

"It's Malfoy."

She shook her head, "what is Malfoy? The letter?"

"No, that was from me. It was all me."

"Did you hit your head?"

"Ginny, it was us. Malfoy and me. It was my memories, but... This was all about Malfoy..." Quickly, she stood up, feeling her pockets. She pulled out the letter, smoothing out its crinkles.

_ You must see what there is to see and meet someone important at St. John Parks. Go to the northern benches and there this letter will make sense._

"I have to go."

"Go where?" She grabbed her arm, her grip bruising her. "Hermione, you're scaring me. Where are you going?"

"To meet Malfoy."

"Have you lost it?! Malfoy? You've had to hit your head. Come on, we're going to St. Mungo's."

Hermione wrenched her arm from her. "I don't have time to explain. I will when I come back. I promise, Ginny. Trust me." She rushed past her, making her way to the door when she stopped and turned. There in the kitchen playing a song from the night that she received it. It was the box Draco gave her. She had assumed it was a present from someone, she hadn't given it much more thought but in her realization she thought it foolish not to question that simple but beautiful box.

Seizing her coat she stuffed her arms through as she ran down the block, her feet pounding the pavement, the cold breeze numbing her face. She thought of all the memories she gave up, how they wound like vines around a tree through her brain. They were no longer memories she visited but true memories that she lived. She felt everything that her past self felt, the way Draco smelled of some expensive musk cologne, how close he held her, how that smirk made her laugh, the way he twirled her when they danced, and how he had a scar on his shoulder when he crashed his broom as a child. He wasn't just a bully or the boy who was on the wrong side of the war. He was man who chose a dangerous path to save his family, he was arrogant turned compassionate. Most of all, he was Draco. He was hers.

Draco had been sitting on the bench for over an hour. He was freezing and bored. Watching the few families that were crazy enough to be out in the dreary weather had gotten dull. He leaned his head back looking at the slate gray sky, breathing in sharp shards of cold.

It had been a long year since he had seen Hermione, the longest year of his life. To see her in his Manor, being forced to identify her, hearing her tortured cries. It made him sick and they rung in his head that night, repeated over in his nightmares. They had an agreement, but he nearly broke every promise they made to each other to save her that day. He wished he had thrown everything out the window to protect her, but he didn't and instead she disapparated with her friends, and it was his turn to be tortured by Voldemort. He would never tell her that, to share his nightmares was to make them real once more.

Hermione had found Draco in their Sixth Year on the Astronomy Tower. He was leaning over the edge, thinking of how easy it would all end if he stepped over. Just one step and the wind would carry him down. Then, he heard a short scream from behind him and he spun to see _her._ His first instinct was to curse her, but he stopped himself, seeing her frightened face, her outstretched hand, as if he had been intending to _save_ him.

Draco was never the same after that. Of course he wasn't, how could he be? She altered him completely, turned his life and beliefs upside down. It was perhaps too much credit to her, because his beliefs were already on the verge of destruction. His beliefs is what made his life miserable, it was what hurt his family. She pushed them over the edge, and she saved him.

Rubbing his neck, he sat up, and there she was. His breath ceased as he took in her plain brown hair massed into a plait, her doe-like eyes seeking him. The crazy witch was only wearing jeans and a t-shirt, her coat open, her hands splayed with some sort of red and gold coloring. She looked like a beautiful death with her pallid skin, a Christmas queen. A scarred Christmas queen, he noted as he took in the bone-white scar on her neck and wondered how many more there were.

Shaking, he stood, straightening his tie and pulling his coat closer around him. Soft flakes of snow fell from that dreaded gray sky. It speckled in their hair and coated their shoulders.

Her eyes met his, and she did something that he least expected: She ran at him. Throwing her arms over his shoulders she roughly brought him down to her. She smelled of chocolate and everything sweet. He held her tighter bringing her off her feet as he straightened.

"What took you so long?"

He laughed softly in her ear, "I didn't know what to get you for Christmas."

Back on her feet he saw her laugh, bowing her head shyly. "Oh, Draco, that was a poor excuse."

"Merry Christmas, Hermione."

"Merry Christmas."

It was a Merry Christmas, indeed. Hermione was returned to his arms right where she belonged.


End file.
